


Syrupy Sweet

by melliejellie



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Awkward Flirting, Coffee Shops, First Dates, First Kiss, M/M, Winter, neither of them have any game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:53:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28350444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melliejellie/pseuds/melliejellie
Summary: Over the past three weeks, Tsukishima has spent ¥8824 on coffee. It's not his fault that his favorite barista is so beautiful he could cry.  At least if he keeps buying coffee, he can keep going into the shop and see him, maybe small talk (when he can work up the nerve and isn't too busy making a fool of himself). After all, isn't not like he has a chance... right?
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Tsukishima Kei
Comments: 27
Kudos: 92





	Syrupy Sweet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [buttercreamfrosting](https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttercreamfrosting/gifts).



> Ah Shay, my akatsk partner in crime. This is for you, my dear!
> 
> (If you've been reading my stuff for a while, you might recognize parts of this from my akatsk drabble from my "cold and cozy bingo" series.)

Tsukishima knocks over his cup of pens reaching for a folder he needs and has to bite his lip to keep the rage scream building inside him from escaping. This morning has been awful. This week hasn’t been much better. Everyone at the office seems to think that  _ their _ problems,  _ their _ inadequacies are somehow  _ his _ fault. And no, not everything can be a priority. That’s not what that word means.

He grits his teeth so hard his jaw hurts. He has to clench his fists to transfer all that tension elsewhere so he can slowly open his mouth. His feels a pop in his jaw as she stretches it and he figures that might as well happen. Add another annoying pain to the growing list in his body as he remains stuck at this desk for eternity.

The woman at the desk next to him starts to dry cough—again—and he abruptly stands, his chair forcefully rolling back. He starts walking without a destination in mind. He just needs some air. Maybe a soda.

He passes by someone with an iced coffee in their hands.

Or a coffee. That’s an idea. He hasn’t had any all morning—trying to cut back, after all the teeth-grinding that his dentist was upset about—but he’s not getting any calmer without it, so coffee sounds like the perfect escape from his desk for a little while.

Only not iced coffee. That’s insane. It’s barely above freezing outside.

It’s too bad the old coffee place on the ground floor closed. It was cheap. It was fine. No frills, just coffee from pots that looked like they had been sent there on a time machine from the 1970s and all the too-sweet, store-bought creamer he wanted to pour in at his own discretion.

He’s been avoiding the new place. The outside of it alone makes him roll his eyes. It looks like one of those places that are all style, no substance. The sign is in some nearly unreadable font. Inside, it’s all dark wood, which he’d normally appreciate, but the tables are all dotted with small flower arrangements and behind the counter hangs one of those trendy chalkboard menus with entirely too many options on it.

Coffee’s simple. It’s hot juice that makes people go faster. Tsukishima was perfectly fine dressing it up with the sugary creamers the old place offered. What else does anyone need?

He eyes the place suspiciously when he exits the elevator, but the call of caffeine is now too great to ignore. He shuffles inside with a sigh, not making eye contact with anyone. In a tired, grouchy daze, Tsukishima stares at the menu and then at his phone as he orders, unwilling to invite any small talk by making eye contact. He’s here to get caffeine and leave. That’s it. His eyes land on an abstract painting on the wall and he clicks his tongue, ready to be out the door with liquid energy in hand.

He moves to the side, barely picking up his feet, scrolling through the friend group chats he always reads but doesn’t usually reply to. When he hears his name, he visibly perks up because his fix is near. With some effort, he pulls his face into a passably social grin, grabs his drink, looks up to mutter a quick “thank you”—and promptly spills hot coffee all over his hand because the man who just slid his drink towards him is so beautiful he could cry.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Tsukishima registers that he’s talking, hastily muttering some words but he doesn’t know what they are. He grabs too many napkins to wipe up the mess but his shaky hands drop those napkins everywhere.He’s muttering something again while he cleans up the new mess, all while the angel behind the counter watches him with a small grin at the corner of his mouth.

Tsukishima, reduced to a walking disaster with his drink in hand, ducks his head and darts out of the coffee shop, the barista’s soft hair and gorgeous face appearing whenever he closes his eyes.

***

The next day, Tsukishima makes it through thirty minutes of work before he decides that, yes, he could use some caffeine today, too. He’s feeling a bit out of sorts still, and while yesterday’s coffee didn’t do much for his demeanor at work, that had more to with his coworkers. It wasn’t the coffee’s fault.

And he’s pretty sure a nice, warm cup will do him some good.

As would seeing if a certain barista is working today.

He has to save face, after all. Tsukishima looked like an idiot yesterday. He just wants to make sure that yesterday’s version of him is properly erased.

Yep, that’s it.

He sighs, already knowing he’s lying to himself, as he pushes back from his desk, grabs his wallet, and like a moth drawing closer to an impossibly hot flame, heads for the elevator to pursue his delightful self-inflicted torment.

The moment he steps through the doors, Tsukishima seems him. His back is turned, but there’s no mistaking the light curl of that rich black hair. His fingertips tingle with the itch to touch them, and he reprimands his own wandering mind, reminding himself that he absolutely must behave like a human being today. Taking steps like he knows how to walk, he gets in line and taps his fingers against his leather wallet.

The barista turns and Tsukishima’s breath catches in his throat. His features are not that of a person. Can’t be. He has to be some sort of mythological creature mistakenly sent to Earth. His skin is pale and smooth under that soft, deliberate mess of gentle curls. He looks like he’s just a bit bored by everything around him, but there’s a brightness in his eyes that Tsukishima can’t ignore. Just like the small grin that plays on his lips whenever a customer says something kind.

“Next customer, please!” The angel is smiling and looking in his direction.

Tsukishima is rooted in place, glad that there’s still a line ahead of him until—yep, line’s gone. He’s standing in the middle of the shop, not moving forward while the rest of the line queues up behind him. A few robotic steps later and he’s in front of the counter, ordering the same, plain thing from yesterday because the menu looks really blurry right now and his heart is pounding.

“Dark roast drip coffee.”

“And what size would that be, sir?”

Oh no, the way he says “sir” like sweet honey dripping from his lips makes Tsukishima’s knees feel weak.

“Medium.” He’s proud of himself for speaking. “Oh, and room for me to add milk.” He forgot to ask for that yesterday. Mistake.

“Apologies, we don’t leave anything out for customer use here. Can I add it for you, sir?”

“Y-yes, that’s fine.” He chokes around the words and has to clear his throat as he takes out his wallet and pays, going through the motions more by muscle memory than anything because his thoughts sounds like loud static at the moment.

The barista says a few more things, then has the audacity to smile in Tsukishima’s direction before he turns to help the next customer.

Tsukishima manages to read the barista’s name tag before he steps away to wait for his coffee and decides that Akaashi is a lovely surname.

He says it over and over in his head while he tries not to stare at the register. When his order is ready, he spares one final glance in his direction and feels caught the moment those eyes lock with his.

Tsukishima dashes out the front doors because he can feel words on his tongue—loud, insane words—and he’s afraid he’ll say something else less than clever if he stays a even a second longer.

***

The worsening winter weather has served as a flimsy excuse to go down to the coffee shop once or twice a day. By day eight of his daily dips down into his personally wonderful hell of embarrassment, Tsukishima’s figured out how to act like a person again. Kind of. Maybe. Relatively.

He can say “hi” and “thank you.”

Today he’s going to push himself a little more. Two or three more words more is enough, right? It’ll be a step.

He’s also started to order something different each time, begrudgingly accepting that there are better-tasting drinks out there than drip coffee with a ton of creamer or milk. He’d always scoffed at people who ordered things topped high with whip cream, but now that he’s indulged in a mocha topped with fresh whipped cream, oh, the possibilities are endless.

Yesterday, he got some caramel-flavored coffee that was just on the right side of sickeningly sweet.

He steps in to the shop and grins the moment his eyes land on his favorite barista currently in the process of making someone’s drink. Akaashi’s gaze is focused on his task as his hands work quickly. Tsukishima lets himself watch, enjoying the way those slender, elegant fingers handle everything.

When Akaashi starts to turn towards where he’s standing, Tsukishima forces the dopey smile off his lips and tries to pull his expression back to something more natural. For all his years of training to have perfect “don’t talk to me” vibes, whenever he’s in here, he can’t seem to make his face do anything he wants it to. Telling himself to relax his cheeks, Tsukishima tries to appear casual, maybe like he’s busy and needs to get back upstairs. He wishes there were a mirror so he could know what his face is doing. No, on second thought, that’d be terrible. Tsukishima doesn’t want that information.

One person at a time, he inches closer to the front of the line and gives his order to the person at the register, sneaking glances in Akaashi’s direction every chance he can. This time he orders something with a ridiculous name that he refuses to say. Instead he asks for a “white chocolate mocha” and leaves it at that.

He pays and circles around to the other side of the counter, thinking of all the things human beings might say to one another as he furtively catches glimpses of Akaashi making his drink.

Small talk. He can do this. Weather is always a good bet. He practices what he might say if Akaashi’s the one who passes him his drink, but when the moment comes, when that sharp gaze lands on him, none of those phrases come to mind.

“It’s cold!” He blurts, grabbing the coffee a bit too forcefully. “Not the coffee,” he looks down, “that’s hot. Cold. Outside. It’s cold outside today.” Tsukishima seals his lips shut, afraid of any more words coming out.

The beautiful barista smiles in a funny sort of way. “Very cold.” He nods gently.

“Thanks!” Tsukishima adds, far more chipper than he’d say it to any other living person. He lifts the cup in another appreciative gesture.

For a few seconds, Tsukishima looks at him with his lips parted slightly. Akaashi seems like he’s expecting Tsukishima to say something else. Those bored-looking eyes are sharp as they stare back at him. Tsukishima panics, mutters “thanks” again, then spins on his heel to get to the door as quickly as possible.

He takes his first sip, knowing it’ll be too hot but not caring, and is greeted with far more than the usual serving of whipped cream and—he pulls off the top—a whole lot of vanilla syrup over top. Way more than any of the other days.

Best not to think too much about that.

Tsukishima does anyway.

Because Akaashi put extra whip cream in his order.

***

On the twelfth day of his new coffee habit, Tsukishima clenches his fist outside the door and opens it with determination because today, today he is going to indulge in some proper small talk with Akaashi. It has been very cold. He is going to casually say something like, “cold out there today, isn’t it?” He will sound like a normal person. He can do this.

Two steps into the shop and that plan flies out the window.

Akaashi spots him and his normally perfectly serene yet bored expression  _ lights up _ like the sun is bursting from his features. He looks straight at Tsukishima and raises his hand in a little wave just above the register. 

“I have a recommendation for you today!” His expression flashes with something else for a second before he’s looking down. “I mean, there’s two new syrups that aren’t on the menu yet. Strawberry and, um, oh! A maple cinnamon.”

Akaashi keeps staring down at the register and Tsukishima takes that as his cue to order. Just as soon as he finds his voice. “I like strawberry.” He gets a surge of pride as the words leave his mouth. He is doing such a good job being a person today.

Akaashi looks up, a smile firmly in place. “Great! Could we make you something with that? I mean, if you wanted to try it.”

“I do,” he replies quickly.

Akaashi’s kneading his hands together and he takes a moment to respond. “Maybe with a white chocolate mocha?”

Tsukishima nods, too many times he thinks, but that’s the least of his worries because then Akaashi’s smile is getting bigger, even as his eyes land back on the register. And Tsukishima is only a man, one very smitten man. He his chest grows warmer and warmer, embracing the fact that Akaashi seems to remember him now.

And Akaashi smiled at him.

Tsukishima is weak. Happily weak.

***

By the third week, Tsukishima’s learned how to conduct small talk with the mythological creature of a man that smells like syrups and coffee. Popular topics so far have included the weather and—okay, just the weather. He has no idea how to flirt and is painfully aware that flirting with someone who is working puts them in an awkward position. So. Weather.

“Should’ve brought a scarf,” he says as he approaches the pick-up counter to get his coffee, already inwardly cringing from the way he can  _ literally _ only talk about the weather with this man. “Even colder today!” The words tumble out from his awkward mouth and all he can do is smile as best he can and try not to look as weird as he feels.

In a move that both pains and brings joy to Tsukishima’s poor heart, Akaashi’s lips curl into a soft smile at the corner of his mouth. “The walk here was brutal after class.”

An opening, a glorious opening to know a little more about Akaashi. “Oh,” Tsukishima says, trying to sound nonchalant, “undergraduate or—”

Akaashi puffs out a soft little laugh and Tsukishima’s heart flutters at the sound.

“Graduate.”

Good. His age is in an acceptable range, Tsukishima decides. Though, acceptable range for what, exactly, he’s not sure what the back of his mind is considering. He shuts that thought down immediately so he can keep making words at the pretty man’s face.

“That’s cool.” Ugh, who says cool? “I uh, work upstairs.” Tsukishima points towards the ceiling, his hand lingering there for just a second too long before it drifts back down by his side.

“I figured,” Akaashi says after a beat. The conversation is slow, almost painfully so, but Tsukishima drinks it down like the sweetest coffee concoction. “Since you’re always in here.”

Tsukishima laughs weakly, “Yeah. Gotta make it through the day, you know?”

“I do,” Akaashi agrees, his attention floating back towards the next few orders coming in. “Well, see you again soon.”

“Yeah. Yeah. Yeah.” Tsukishima clears his throat so he’ll stop repeating himself. “See you soon.”

Tsukishima’s no fool. The moment he steps out of the shop, he knows exactly what his brain considers every time he sees his favorite barista. It’s not something he’s felt in a long while, and he’s surprised he feels it stirring over someone he knows so little about. But Tsukishima knows he wants to take that boy to dinner, wants to take him somewhere nice, ask him questions about his family and his studies. Tsukishima doesn’t know a lot about Akaashi, but he wants to know it.

He takes a sip of his coffee as he nears the elevator, light on his feet as the first too-hot, too-sweet taste hits his tongue.

Tsukishima’s always solved his problems by thinking, but this one seems to be impeded by all of his thoughts. Too bad he has no instinct to follow for how to talk to nice, beautiful men in coffee shops in an appropriate, not creepy way to see if he even has a chance.

For now, he’ll just keep cutting into his budget by buying fancy coffee everyday.

***

Over the past three weeks, Tsukishima has spent ¥8824 on coffee.

It's shameful.

He sits at his desk, scrolling through his bank account online and vibrating his leg under the table. His hand feels shaky on his mouse and he think he might be able to smell time, like, the concept of time. It smells like oranges.

And the worst part is he's going to have to go again later because Akaashi wasn't in the cafe downstairs this morning.

It would be better if he knew Akaashi's work schedule, but he absolutely cannot ask because that's crossing about a hundred lines of creepiness.

He wraps his hands around the paper coffee cup and takes another big sip, hoping that his body will become so saturated with caffeine that he'll even out. That science checks out, right?

Somehow he manages to shake and tremble his way through a caffeine-fueled, anxiety-ridden morning where he can smell and hear everything like some kind of superhero, and jumps into the elevator to head to the ground floor coffee shop.

For tea. He’s going to get tea. No more coffee.

But the moment Akaashi sees him, the barista perks up with another tiny smile, and heartily recommends a new menu item—

“We’re calling it the Snowy Mocha—white chocolate, vanilla, cinnamon, and something else, I forgot. Maybe something you would like?”

Tsukishima nods, warmth already blooming in his chest. No tea today. He can’t say no to him. “Sounds lovely,” he agrees, “but maybe half-caf today?”

Akaashi makes a tiny, almost-laugh that he keeps sealed behind his lips.

“It’s a little warmer today,” Tsukishima says stiffly as Akaashi turns around to start making his drink, already feeling a twinge of excitement and nervousness over how many sweet things he sees going into it. Honestly, he’s been afraid of the caffeine but it’s probably going to be the sugar that does him in.

It’s not busy, so Akaashi’s attention is wholly on him and Tsukishima’s heart keeps skipping over beats.

“My walk here was pretty nice,” Akaashi says, his hands busy as his tiny smile grows.

Nope, forget sugar. That grin is going to be what happily kills him.

“There’s snow in the forecast, though,” Tsukishima adds.

Akaashi runs the steamer, then replies the moment it’s done, “I saw that. On Friday, right?” Finished, he turns towards the counter where Tsukishima is waiting with wallet.

“Yep,” he says and wracks his brain for something else to say. Akaashi’s eyes are on his and he has to look down. He pretends he needs to dig for change again. “I don’t much care for snow when I have places to be, but if I’m trapped at home with snow, then that can be nice.”

As he hands over the money, he braves a question, “do you like snow?”

The little smile grows. “I like when it’s fresh, still soft. The mush that comes later is the worst.” Akaashi slides the drink between them slowly.

Tsukishima can feel other words trying to tumble out of his mouth, but he can’t quite bring himself to say them. He’s already so worried about looking dumb, concerned with what his arms, his face, his everything is doing at any given moment during their interactions.

“Have a good rest of the day,” Akaashi smiles softly.

“Thanks, you too.”

Tsukishima leaves and decides that was a perfectly fine interaction. He did well. Fine. Tomorrow he’ll do even better.

***

The next day he’s already in line before he realizes Akaashi isn’t there. He sighs to himself and debates staying in line and getting something soothing like an herbal tea or just ditching and coming back later. He checks phone so he can pretend he has some reason to leave, like anyone in the cafe even cares. Turning on his heel, he prepares to depart in defeat, but the back door of the cafe opens and Akaashi tumbles in, snowflakes dotting his jacket.

“Sorry, sorry,” he says to his coworkers. He’s a carefully orchestrated flurry of actions as he rids himself of his coat and finds his apron.

Tsukishima realizes he’s staring the moment Akaahi’s eyes lock on to his. He’s tying his apron behind his back and Akaashi’s expression changes. He stops. He smiles. His cheeks are pink from the cold. Tsukishima has no idea what his face looks like right now but he’s worried. He’s pretty sure he looks rather dumb right now.

Akaashi raises his hand and gives a small wave before joining the hustle behind the counter.

Tsukishima heart is pounding in his chest and he feels determined. Today is going to be the day he talks about more than the weather.

“Get caught in the weather?” Tsukishima asks once he’s at the front of the line. His fingers are drumming against the countertop and he smiles weakly, trying to make his facial muscles move in a way that look nice, not creepy. This man makes him forget what humans normally do with their faces. This man makes him want to do more than his normal apathetic scowl.

“Got caught in class. The weather didn’t help, though,” Akaashi grins, already making a drink even though Tsukishima didn’t order.

Tsukishima watches him work, enjoys how deftly his hands move between the machines. He watches fresh strawberries get scooped into the mix.

“Strawberries, my favorite,” Tsukishima says the moment he notices. He pushes himself to be bold, “how did you know?” Did he sound flirty? He has no idea. He tried.

“You mentioned it,” Akaashi grins, “a few days ago. Now there’s not really that much coffee in here, but you seem to like the dessert ones, so—”

“It’s perfect,” Tsukishima says before Akaashi’s even done.

The barista pauses in his work, a different expression on his face as he stares at Tsukishima. He feels like he’s being studied under that intense gaze and it stirs up the nerves in his stomach.

Akaashi’s hands disappear behind a machine as he finishes. He seems to take his time, more than normal, and Tsukishima fiddles with his wallet while he waits so he’ll stop staring already.

“I hope you’re still saying that when you taste it,” Akaashi sets the drink on the counter. His fingers tap along the side of the cardboard sleeve around the drink before one of his hands wrap around it again.

“I will,” Tsukishima replies quickly, pushing out the rest of the words before he can stop himself again, “I’ve liked everything you’ve made.”

“Even the weird ones?” Akaashi asks, a smirk on his lips.

This is definitely more than he’s seen Akaashi talk to his other customers. There has to something there, right? He feels a bit braver. He pushes again, adding a smirk of his own. “Especially the weird ones.”

“Well,” Akaashi finally takes his hand off the cup and slides it towards Tsukishima, “I hope you like this one. I added something a little different this time.” For a moment, the grin slips off Akaashi’s face and his eyes dart away as busies himself with the register.

Tsukishima pays, noting the way his wallet is getting emptier by the day but he can’t seem to find the will to care. “Can’t wait to see.”

He makes it three steps out the front door before he moves his hands and realizes there’s a phone number written on the cardboard sleeve. Shocked, he spins and looks back into the shop.

Akaashi is staring back at him, eyes wider than normal. He slowly raises his hand and gives a strange, choppy, sort of wave.

Tsukishima feels his lips grow into what is definitely a surprised, goofy, stupid grin. He nods, feeling the winter chill completely melt away as his heart explodes in the best way.

Money well spent.

But what the hell is he supposed to do  _ now _ ?

***

Tsukishima’s never been one to panic. In situations where he was unsure or lacked confidence, his default reaction was to pretend he didn’t care and bury any real feelings deep inside to deal with later—or never. Now, though, he’s sitting on his couch, holding a cardboard sleeve with a phone number on it, and this time he can’t convince himself he doesn’t care.

Because this time he cares a whole awful lot and the stakes are high.

What if he texts and says everything in the stupidest way possible and then Akaashi never texts him back? Or what if he does text back, but it’s to say it was a mistake, that he really shouldn’t have given him his number? That he thought about it more and thinks Tsukishima is awful, actually—the worst.

Or what if he does manage to text, but then they go out somewhere together and have nothing in common? Tsukishima still knows nothing about Akaashi other than the fact that he likes fresh snow, attends graduate school nearby, and makes Tsukishima’s heart beat out of his chest whenever he shares a small, quiet smile at the corner of his mouth.

All he knows is that Akaashi is the best part of his day right now and he wants to rush in but have everything go just right the first time, no hiccups, no awkwardness, and that’s impossible so—

He’s getting ahead of himself.

Tsukishima unlocks his phone and stares at the two objects in his hand—his phone, ready and waiting, and the cardboard sleeve with that delightfully terrifying phone number on it. Sweat is beginning to gather under his sweater along his spine. He swallows hard and shuts off his screen, turning his phone face down on the couch beside him with shaky hands.

He doesn’t have to reply  _ today _ . He can wait until tomorrow.

***

Tsukishima doesn’t text the next day. He also doesn’t go to the coffee shop because he’s afraid of running into Akaashi. He gets a headache from the lack of caffeine and is extra snippy with his coworkers because he didn’t have his daily dose of sweet syrups and sly smiles.

***

He doesn’t text the next day either. He ends up feeding his caffeine habit with a can of coffee from the vending machine. It’s hot but it tastes like aluminum.

He worries that he’s waited too long when he stares at the cardboard sleeve that night, but he still can’t bring himself to send a message.

***

Tsukishima is aware that he has absolutely no game. He never has. He’s pretty sure he never will. The only boyfriends he’s had are people that pursued him first and then he made it clear that he was alright with it progressing.

Now, though, he has a cardboard sleeve with Akaashi’s phone number. Akaashi does not have his phone number. And he’s going to have to take the next step.

He has about seven minutes before he has to leave to catch his train to work. He can do this. He can type a simple message, press send, and be on his way.

Tsukishima types the number into a new message, then he loses his nerve. But not before saving the number into his phone. That’s a step. A solid first step.

He grabs his coat and leaves for the train early just for something to do.

Tsukishima makes it through two meetings before he feels his phone burning a hole in his pocket. For a couple of weeks, the coffee shop, and Akaashi’s sweet voice, have been a part of his daily routine. But for two days now he’s missed both the sugary caffeine boost and the way he feels more awake once his heart’s been racing after just discussing the weather.

The problem is, it’s been too long. Right? How many days is too many days to wait to text someone? What if Akaashi’s been waiting on him and he hurt his feelings? Or what if Akaashi regrets giving it to him, and then Tsukishima just pops on down into the shop making everything way too awkward?

The second he leaves a meeting, he darts into the nearest bathroom to gather his nerve and follow the simplest, if not the easiest, way forward.

> >> Thank you for your number. I hope you are having a good day.

He stares at himself in the mirror the second he presses send, wondering if any signs of his internal meltdown are showing on his face. Despite slightly widened eyes, there’s nothing too out of the ordinary. He can make it back to work.

After a few more panicked texts.

> >> This is Tsukishima, by the way.
> 
> >> I come to the coffee sh
> 
> >> op, *shop, and you gave me your number

The words look back at him, errors and all, and he wants so badly to redeem himself.

> >> Hello.

Tsukishima silences his phone, locks it, and buries it in his pocket to be ignored until he can work up the nerve to look at it again.

Bravery, in its weakest form, comes to him around lunch. His terribly unhealthy and delicious convenience store lunch emboldened him enough to open his phone and find not one, but four new messages from his newest contact.

> << I’m having a good morning so far. Thanks!
> 
> << And hello.
> 
> << This is Akaashi, from the coffee shop.
> 
> << I’m just realizing you knew that already.

Tsukishima quickly tosses his lunch trash, grabs his wallet, and practically sprints to the elevator. After lunch is a great time for coffee. The perfect time actually. A little afternoon boost.

He makes it to the bottom floor before he thinks to ask another question.

> >> Are you working today?

But he doesn’t wait for an answer. He’s already here, his legs feel itchy and weird, and his body carries him to the shop on its own. And there, because Tsukishima is both lucky and cursed, is the world’s hottest barista.

Akaashi’s secretly looking at his phone below the counter.

Tsukishima feels his phone vibrate.

> << Yes. Here now, actually.

“Hi,” Tsukishima blurts, ignoring the few glances that look his way. He can already feel his cheeks growing warm and pink. What’s a little more embarrassment?

Akaashi’s eyes snap up and settle on Tsukishima’s immediately. His lips are parted but he doesn’t say anything as Tsukishima walks up to the counter where there is, thankfully, no one in line.

“Hello,” Tsukishima says, repeating himself, “something very caffeinated and sugary, please.”

That tiny smile appears at the corner of Akaashi’s mouth. Tsukishima ascends to another plane of existence because this isn’t like every other time. He awkwardly texted this man, this beautiful man who gave him his number, and Akaashi texted back. That has to mean something.

“So, your usual?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah,” Akaashi echoes. Neither of them move for a beat, then Akaashi shakes his head and refocuses his attention on the register. “That—that’ll be—”

“I got it,” Tsukishima hands over the same amount he’s paid everyday now. Always the same size. Always whatever sweet goodies Akaashi wants to put in there.

“I’ll go,” Akaashi starts speaking slowly, “get that started for you.” The second he turns around to take a step, he nearly collides with a coworker. The woman laughs it off, darting into the back for something, and Akaashi decidedly avoids looking in Tsukishima’s direction the entire time he makes his drink.

That’s probably for the best because Tsukishima hasn’t been able to look away and it’s rude to stare, worse to be caught staring. He glances at his phone the moment Akaashi starts to move towards the pick-up counter.

“There’s locally-sourced maple syrup in there. Hope you like it.” Akaashi slides his drink over, looking a bit more like himself now. That smile is still there.

Tsukishima feels brave again. He doesn’t know exactly what is going on in Akaashi’s mind, but he does have some facts on his side. Akaashi gave him his number, he texted back, and he got flustered, definitely flustered just now at the register.

“I bet I’ll like it. I’ve enjoyed everything you’ve made.”

Tsukishima counts the seconds that pass as he stands there looking like he’s lost and he really hopes no one is watching this exchange. But it’s alright, because Akaashi is just standing there, too, being painfully awkward right along with him.

“Have a nice day,” Akaashi says finally, his voice thin.

“Thanks, you too.”

As Tsukishima walks out of the shop feeling happily light-headed, he looks down at the drink in his hand to find that Akaashi’s written another note on the sleeve.

_ I’m free on Saturday. _

***

Tsukishima’s lying on his couch, one leg over the back, the other stretched out long, and for the life of him he doesn’t know why Akaashi keeps tossing the ball in his court. Surely, Akaashi must have gathered from their interactions that Tsukishima can barely function around him.

Though, he thinks of how Akaashi nearly ran into his co-worker and lets himself dwell for a moment on the comforting thought that maybe, somehow, by some stroke of fate, Tsukishima manages to leave Akaashi similarly dysfunctional.

What a lovely, but insane thought.

Just ridiculous enough to give him the push he needs to open their very short text exchange and add another.

> >> Are you free Saturday afternoon?

Simple. Straight-forward. Afternoon so it’s not too overtly presumptuous, like dinner can be. He stares at the screen, his breath hitching when he sees that Akaashi is already typing a response.

> << Free all day
> 
> << What do you have in mind?

Nothing. Tsukishima has nothing in mind. He feels instantly sweaty and out of breath.

> >> Want to grab lunch?

Casual. Good. His heart is racing but he thinks he is probably, maybe nailing this because Akaashi replies quickly.

> << Sure.
> 
> << Glad you didn’t say coffee.
> 
> << Anything but coffee. Please.

Tsukishima snorts out a laugh. But he’s not sure what to say next. He asked Akaashi out, so he should pick the place, right? Or should he ask him what he likes?

He falters for a moment before an idea strikes him. He texts him the name of a popular shopping street not far from his house. If they go there Tsukishima will know the area and maybe Akaashi can choose a place that he’s interested in trying.

> >> Meet at noon? By the station?

He holds his breath, watching the typing animation flash on his screen.

> << See you then.

Tsukishima closes his eyes and melts into his couch, heart racing, eyes shut tight, with a smile so wide he’s glad no one’s around to see it.

***

Earlier this morning, Tsukishima’s bed was a tangled mess of discarded clothes that he frustratedly sorted through before landing on a chunky-knit, dark grey sweater that his mom, of all people, said made his blond hair look nice. He hopes she wasn’t just saying it, because when he looked in the mirror he thought it looked good. And he wants to look good today, for the first time in a long time.

Now he’s outside the station, sweater hidden beneath a scarf and a pea coat that isn’t as warm as his puffy jacket. But he doesn’t look as good in the puffy jacket, so navy pea coat it is. In the moment, he feels silly that he spent so much time worrying over something so small, but the moment he catches sight of Akaashi descending the stairs from the train platform, he’s glad he worried about how he dressed today.

Tsukishima again feels that urge to reach out and touch the curls that frame Akaashi’s face. Today they’re tucked against his pale skin by a creamy white winter hat that’s the same shade as his sweater. His coat is burgundy, rich and deep, and Tsukishima is reminded that his man is probably, definitely out of his league.

As he gets closer, the pink dusting on Akaashi’s cheeks is enough to steal the words right out of Tsukishima’s mouth.

“Hey,” Akaashi says simply when he stops in front of Tsukishima, giving him that same little wave he does at the shop.

It takes Tsukishima a beat to say anything back. “Hey.” He fidgets with the sleeve of his coat, his heart racing with Akaashi’s full attention on him. “So, you wanna—” Tsukishima gestures towards the start of the shopping street because he finds he has no other words to say. Akaashi is too powerful without a counter to separate them.

“Sure,” Akaashi replies with that same tiny smile.

Tsukishima starts walking—well, sort of walking because his legs feel weird now—but mentally, he is a puddle on the sidewalk from having that soft smile so near.

The first date vibes are awkward. So awkward. Tsukishima’s never known it to be any different. Although, past boyfriends have been the chattier type and Tsukishima’s been more than glad to let them take the lead, however weird the conversational turns are. But Akaashi’s different. Maybe a bit more like him.

Only Akaashi’s the fearless one who took the leap and gave Tsukishima his number. He’s the one who writes very bold things on cardboard sleeves. He’s daring, yes, but quietly, Tsukishima thinks.

As they take slow steps together into the crowd of people shopping on a busy Saturday afternoon, Tsukishima steals glances as they talk about—what else—the weather. Akaashi’s eyes haven’t met his in a while. Since they started walking, Akaashi’s been staring straight ahead and Tsukishima’s caught him pulling his bottom lip between his teeth, his hands fidgeting at his sides, slipping in and out of his coat pockets.

His obvious nerves push Tsukishima to say  _ something _ . "Anything you want in particular for lunch?"

"Not really,” Akaashi answers, turning to face him, “I’m happy with anything. Do you know this area well?”

“A little. Moved here for work a few months ago.”

“Oh! From where?” Akaashi face brightens and that faint blush on his cheeks is far sweeter than any syrup he’s ever added to Tsukishima’s coffee.

“Miyagi.”

Akaashi smile widens. “Big city or little town?"

And with that warmth blooming in their conversation, the awkwardness begins to thaw. Of course, Tsukishima's still extremely aware of everything his body is doing and also anytime Akaashi's arm bumps against his coat, but they're talking now. About more than coffee. About more than the weather.

They decide on an udon shop that boasts excellent handmade noodles when Tsukishima points it out and says, “Soup's good for a cold day, right?"

He’s proud of himself for being so decisive, for making so many words even while Akaashi has the audacity to smile while talking about growing up in Tokyo, but eventually there’s an issue. Noodles and soup together inevitably mean splatter.

Tsukishima wipes broth from his glasses again and feels embarrassed about his choice of restaurant. Until he keeps noticing specks of curry broth dotting Akaashi's nose before he wipes them off with the back of his hand. More than once they catch one another. More than once they laugh together. It’s a great release of nerves, but there's genuine delight there, too.

Over hot bowls of udon, Tsukishima learns about Akaashi's graduate program, how he's hoping to break into publishing but knows it's difficult. “Maybe the graduate degree will make me look better on paper.”

He asks Tsukishima about work, and Tsukishima has to grimace. “It’s boring. Makes me miss my internship at the Sendai museum, but that was unpaid, so—”

There’s genuine interest in Akaashi’s expression as he asks, “What was that like?”

By the time they’re slipping coats back over their shoulders, Tsukishima could almost say it’s comfortable. Almost. The only parts that aren’t are the quick pattering of his heart and that tight, warm feeling in his chest. But those things are lovely. And very welcome.

"Are there any museums here you haven't been to yet?" Akaashi asks once they’ve started walking down a new section of the shopping street.

"I've actually been to a pitiful amount,” Tsukishima admits. “Moved here. Meant to go. But I haven't done much. I bet you know everywhere to go since you lived here so long."

"Not really. I like to do a lot of the same things. I'm a creature of habit,” Akaashi replies with a sigh.

Tsukishima thinks about his habits, his steady routines in the morning and before bed. The way he likes things just so. How moving interrupted all that, but he’s been slowly finding his way back to his comforts. "Know the feeling."

Akaashi’s smile grows wider as a gust of wind ruffles the hair around his face. "And in fact,” he starts slowly but he speaks faster the more he says, “one of those habits is right around the corner. One of my  _ top five _ favorite used book stores is about a block away and I've  _ maybe  _ been subtly guiding us there since we left the station. Is that okay? Do you want to come with me?"

The nervous tone in his voice makes the grip around Tsukishima’s heart squeeze tighter. He catches Akaashi’s gaze with his own and smiles as sweetly as he can manage. "Lead the way."

By early evening, they’ve walked every street in the district and both of them are carrying bags with used books they found when they dug through stacks together. They didn’t talk much, but the silence became more comfortable with each excited sound from Akaashi when his eyes landed on a book he was interested in.

Akaashi seemed very interested in the books Tsukishima chose, as though it would give him insight into his favorite customer. Tsukishima would be lying if he said he hadn’t done the same. With every pick, though, Akaashi was even more of a puzzle. Who leaves with a book of poetry, a collection of essays about linguistics, and a YA romance novel?

And now this attractive puzzle is standing next to Tsukishima while they wait for Akaashi’s train. They’re tucked back in a quiet corner, hidden beside some drink machines. The silence has returned and both of them only seem brave enough now to steal glances at one another. But the mood has shifted. The excited fluttering in Tsukishima’s heart hasn’t calmed in the slightest, but his shoulders aren’t as tense.

“I was nervous, you know, giving you my number,” Akaashi admits suddenly, still not looking over.

The honesty strikes Tsukishima, melts down the last few layers between them. “And I was nervous about texting you,” he replies, the rest spilling out on its own. “Also I was nervous to talk to you. Every single time in the shop.”

“Really?” Akaashi sounds incredulous.

“I spilled coffee on my hand the first time I saw you because you made me so nervous I couldn’t function.” He laughs at himself as heart beats quicker with every word. “In a good way, though,” he adds quickly, “because you make me nervous everyday but seeing you is the highlight of my day. Is that weird? That felt weird to say. Sorry.”

Beside him, Akaashi is still and quiet. Then Tsukishima feels fingers brushing against the back of his hand. “I look forward to seeing you, too. I may have,” he makes a humming sound before he continues, “I may have traded as many shifts as I could so I would be in the shop during regular working hours.”

Akaashi’s fingers wind between his own and Tsukishima feels so light on his feet, he swears he could float away. But Akaashi isn’t done. “To say something weird back, I liked you the moment I first saw you.”

Tsukishima’s heart can’t take much more. It’s hammering inside his chest and he fights the urge to ask “why” because maybe some gifts from the universe aren’t meant to be questioned. Maybe he should just accept exactly what Akaashi’s said, as much as he can’t believe it.

“That was the day I spilled coffee and threw napkins everywhere,” Tsukishima says with a groan. “I promise I’m an intelligent person most of the time. And I hope today has proven I can talk about more than just the weather.” He winds his fingers through Akaashi’s and holds his hand tighter.

He feels Akaashi’s gaze on him and he turns away because the full force of Akaashi in all his gorgeous glory steals the breath from his lungs.

“I thought you were cute then. It took me ages to work up the nerve because I kept overthinking about every little thing I might do wrong. I got frustrated enough with myself to just give you my number so I could actually talk to you. But I’m not the best at figuring out what to say when I’m actually in front of you.”

“Yeah,” Tsukishima says because no other words will come now. He feels a heat rising up his chest, up his neck, spilling across his cheeks and the tips of his ears. He turns back to look at Akaashi.

“Yeah,” Akaashi repeats, his voice soft and airy. Then his eyes flutter shut and he’s quickly leaning into Tsukishima’s space, up on his tiptoes.

Tsukishima’s got a drum inside his chest as Akaashi’s lips land just to the left of his mouth—not quite a proper kiss, not quite a kiss on the cheek, but something wonderful just the same.

It’s over just as quickly as it started. Their eyes still locked, Akaashi stammers, “I wanted to do that. Did you want me to do that?”

Stunned, Tsukishima nods.

There’s screeching as Akaashi’s train approaches. People start filing towards the lines of passengers. Tsukishima can barely hear any of it.

“I’ll see you Monday,” Akaashi says.

“Are we—did we make plans I already forgot?”

“Well, you’ll be at work and stop by like you always do—right?”

“Oh yeah, definitely. Yes. Good. Yes.”

He can’t make proper sentences again and he’s worried about how stupid he seems right before Akaashi gets on his train, but then Akaashi is lacing their fingers together one last time and smiling. “I’ll make you something sweet.”

***

On Monday Tsukishima’s tired and grouchy. He was supposed to have one meeting this morning. Instead, he’s been in four and it’s not even lunch. He sits at his desk and fights the urge to put his head down, forehead against the desk for a few moments to pull himself back together.

His phone lights up beside him with a new text.

Even he can’t fight the grin that stretches wide across his face when he sees it’s Akaashi.

> << Are you able to step away from your desk for a minute?

Tsukishima checks the time and starts to worry. Akaashi opened this morning and his shift is nearly over. Those meetings robbed him of his kind of, maybe, a little, mid-day date.

> >> Crazy morning putting out other people’s fires. I can come down soon.

He’s already gathering his things when Akaashi replies.

> << No need. Rooftop? 10 minutes?

The corners of Tsukishima’s eyes crinkle as a wide smile slips out and he decides he can handle work for a few more minutes because the break will be well worth it.

> >> See you soon.

***

All they’ve done is held hands and sort of kissed at a train station, but Tsukishima can feel the excitement sparking between them as they stand together on the roof of the office building.

As warm as he feels from just being near Akaashi, they’re both bundled up to ward off the cold. He’s in his puffy jacket—the less handsome, but much warmer coat—gloves, a black and white plaid patterned scarf, and a winter hat pulled over his head. Tsukishima doesn’t take any chances with the cold.

Akaashi’s dressed in his black work pants, the same burgundy coat from the weekend, but he mentions that he forgot his hat at home today. He wraps his bare hands around his own coffee cup for warmth.

They’re tucked back in a corner of the rooftop overlooking the traffic below. Akaashi sets his arms on top of the railing while he talks, but Tsukishima stands back because doesn’t like how he feels when he looks straight down. He’s already lightheaded enough just being around Akaashi.

“—and that’s why I can’t stand group projects. I thought I’d be rid of them in grad school,” Akaashi complains, but he’s smiling right before he takes another sip of coffee.

Tsukishima’s legs feel unsteady the longer Akaashi looks at him. “They’re painful,” he agrees. “I feel like my work would be way quicker if I could just, well, work and not have to go to a hundred useless meetings. I’m all for teamwork but not, not like this.”

Akaashi laughs softly, standing upright with a long breath in. As he lets it out, he steps a bit closer to Tsukishima, letting their jacket-covered arms touch. When their eyes meet, Tsukishima forgets where they are as his palms sweat in his gloves. Then Akaashi’s looking back towards the city and letting his head tip to the side until he’s resting on Tsukishima’s shoulder.

Neither of them say a word for a while. Tsukishima can feel his face heating up and prays Akaashi stays there long enough for the blush that is rising up to his cheeks to go away. Actually, no, because the longer Akaashi stays there, the redder he’s going to get. His soft curls of black hair are so close and, even through the layers of his jacket, Tsukishima swears he can feel the warmth of Akaashi’s body against his.

Akaashi’s been brave, so he will be, too. Tsukishima steels his nerves and slowly lifts a puffy-warm arm to wrap around Akaashi’s shoulders. When his hand lands, he’s not sure what to do, but he takes a quick breath and then curls his gloved fingers around Akaashi’s upper arm.

The soft hum he hears from Akaashi and the way his head rests more firmly against Tsukishima’s shoulder is the best reward.

They stand like that, simply quiet and together, until Tsukishima feels something cold land on the tip of his nose. Akaashi’s head shifts and they both look up as more bits of cold land on their skin.

“It’s snowing,” Akaashi says, voice warm and content. He sets his coffee cup down on the railing and turns to face Tsukishima, his cheeks and nose flushed from the cold and, hopefully, more.

Their eyes meet again, but instead of freezing Tsukishima in place, this time that gaze spurs him to action. If he’s going to be ridiculously lucky, then he’s going to be foolishly bold, too. With his free hand, he reaches up to gently hold the nape of Akaashi’s neck. He waits one breathless second before he’s closing his eyes and leaning in so he can kiss him properly this time.

For a moment, neither of them dare to move. They breathe in one another’s space, their lips timidly touching and Tsukishima wishes he wasn’t wearing gloves so he could feel Akaashi’s soft hair against his skin. The thought fills his mind with such wonderful images that he abandons his coffee cup to caress one side of Akaashi’s face and guide him closer so he can deepen the kiss and savor these sweet. coffee-flavored kisses.

Akaashi kisses him back with more intensity than before, his lips parting in a way that makes Tsukishima’s breath leave his lungs in shuddered gasps. When they finally do part, their faces remain close.

“I wanted to do that. Did you want me to do that?” Tsukishima asks, repeating Akaashi’s words from the weekend, his voice barely above a whisper. He sighs and lets their foreheads fall together.

Akaashi nods his approval, humming softly, his lips curling into a delighted smile.

“Can I see you again tonight?” Tsukishima asks before this weightless feeling leaves him.

“I’d love to,” Akaashi replies then he’s leaning in again to steal a few more kisses as the flurries of snow around them continue to fall.

As timeless as this moment feels, and as much as he never wants to leave, Tsukishima knows he has to get back to work and Akaashi has another class this afternoon.

Before they leave, Tsukishima wraps his scarf around Akaashi—”So you’re not too cold.”

Akaashi’s hands play at the ends of it, his smile wide and bright. “I’ll give it back to you tonight. See you later, Tsukishima.”

Tsukishima likes how his scarf looks on him almost as much as the way his name sounds on Akaashi’s tongue.

“See you for dinner, Akaashi.”

  
  


***

  
  


_ Some time later… _

Tsukishima sets his book down and yawns as the mid-day sun peeks through his open windows. It’s another lazy weekend morning and Akaashi walks in with fresh cup of coffee for Tsukishima before settling into his usual spot right in the middle of the couch and cuddled close.

Tsukishima looks down to see what Akaashi’s attempted to draw in the frothed milk this time. It looks like a leaf. Sort of. If he squints. He smiles at his boyfriend. “You’re getting better.”

Akaashi laughs and Tsukishima knows he’ll never grow tired of that sound. “I thought plants would be easier to draw than animals, but I must be missing the gene that allows someone to create lovely latte art.”

Taking his first sip, Tsukishima hums with contentment as the flavors fill his mouth. “Tastes wonderful, though. Same as always.”

“I might not be a barista anymore, but I at least learned something from all that.” Akaashi scoots closer, stealing part of Tsukishima’s blanket for himself. He inches his face closer until his nose is almost touching Tsukishima’s. “I did get you from working there.”

“I’m so glad you found my awkwardness charming,” Tsukishima replies, reaching up to press a kiss to his cheek.

“Couldn’t have said it better myself,” Akaashi agrees with a smile, his eyes fluttering shut as they fall together with a comfortable ease, each kiss as lovely and warm as the first.

**Author's Note:**

> Winter makes me crave coziness and, I swear, for me there's no ship quite as cozy as AkaTsk. They're both a little chaotic, sure, but I think they'd enjoy such comfortable, quiet time together in their cozy cottage, surrounded by plants and their one black cat. AkaTsk is Cottagecore.
> 
> Comments, kudos, and bookmarks make me smile! (And I always reply to comments...even if it takes be a while!)
> 
> Chat with me on Twitter - [@HeyMellieJellie](https://twitter.com/HeyMellieJellie). I scream about haikyuu and post story threads, too!


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